


Queen of the Land

by lady_ragnell



Series: Summerpornathon Entries (and Leftovers) 2013 [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/F, Pegging, Pre-Canon, Ritual Sex, Team Gluttony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-18 00:35:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_ragnell/pseuds/lady_ragnell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Camelot won't accept Uther as king, but Nimueh has a different idea, and Ygraine agrees to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Queen of the Land

**Author's Note:**

> Leftovers for the first challenge of the 2013 summerpornathon, written for the "public sex" kink-prompt.

“The land won’t accept him as King.”

Ygraine looks up from her desk in surprise at the voice. “It was all for naught, then, Uther’s war, my wedding him to show good faith? Camelot will wither under his touch?”

Nimueh sits at her side, the dust of the road still on her. “The land will not accept _him_ , Ygraine.” She pauses, long enough that Ygraine knows she’s saying this as herself, not as the envoy of the High Priestesses. “But I think it will accept a Queen.”

She knows what the ritual entails, and why she shouldn’t do it. But Camelot will tear itself apart like this, and she couldn’t bear that. “We would have to do it behind his back. He won’t allow it, otherwise.”

“You’re a King’s daughter, Ygraine. This conqueror doesn’t have the right to deny you anything, much less your rightful crown. And this way, the heir must be a child of your body. He can’t cast you aside once he’s paraded you around.”

Her brothers would counsel her against this, but she has to do what she can. “Yes.”

Nimueh kisses her forehead, a brief cool touch. “Come to the Isle of the Blessed in a week, when the moon is full. We’ll crown you Queen of the land.”

*

Ygraine won’t go to the ritual like a lamb to the sacrifice. She refuses the white robes she is offered and walks to the altar naked and alone, to climb atop it in full view of those there to witness the crowning of the Queen of the land. Most of them are the Priestesses of the Isle, but there are others as well: representatives from the Druids, from the Dragonlords. She nods to them all with her head high.

Nobody speaks as she as she arranges herself on her back, chilled in the night air.

She expects a priest to come to her as the moon rises, but instead, it’s Nimueh, as bare as she is, but with a network of straps binding something low on her belly, a stone phallus glistening and dripping with oil. Nimueh looks dreamy, magic-drunk, and Ygraine reaches out for her when she gets close enough to touch. Her hand rests between Nimueh’s breasts. “You’re the land?”

“And you’re the Queen.” Nimueh climbs on the altar and crouches over her. The phallus settles easily between Ygraine’s thighs. “Will you claim me, then?”

For a moment, Ygraine thinks she won’t be able to do it. Nimueh has been her dearest friend and closest companion since they were children, but despite nights of wine and Nimueh’s red lips breathtakingly close, they have never been like this. Nimueh is smiling, though, and nothing can be so hard if Nimueh is smiling. “I will.”

Ygraine heaves them over, nearly rolling them off the altar, until Nimueh is below her, on her back, and Ygraine is above, hair falling about her shoulders. It feels better like that. A King takes his land by taking control, filling the chosen priestess with his seed. Ygraine may be the one being filled, but that doesn’t mean she should wait for it to happen to her. She shifts until she has a knee on either side of Nimueh’s hips, her legs splayed wide, cold stone resting against her entrance. “Come on,” Nimueh goads her, hands drifting to get a grip on Ygraine’s waist. “I’m yours for the taking.”

It hurts a little, taking the phallus, sinking down until it fills her. She’s ridden enough horses that her maidenhead is no bother, but the stone is unyielding and slow to warm, and Ygraine has been concentrating too hard to be wet enough to take it with ease. She rests there for a moment, and then she begins to move.

At first, the slide hurts more than it gives her pleasure, but Nimueh or the priestesses who readied her were kind enough to oil the phallus, and it grows easier quickly, especially when Nimueh begins rocking her hips in time with Ygraine, bringing her more pleasure. She hadn’t expected that, merely the fulfillment of duty, and she finds herself gasping, bending to scatter kisses on Nimueh’s chest and neck, wherever she can reach—even, messily, on her lips. “Mine, you’re mine,” she gasps, and she doesn’t know if she means Camelot or Nimueh, and she doesn’t know if it matters.

“Yours,” Nimueh agrees, and Ygraine comes with a cry.

It’s done. It feels wrong pulling away without giving Nimueh her pleasure too, but they are being watched, and the ritual is over. Ygraine stands on shaky legs, face and chest red with exertion, sweat cooling rapidly now that she isn’t skin to skin with Nimueh.

One of the priestesses comes forward with a crown, an ancient band of iron, and places it in Nimueh’s hands as she comes to stand next to Ygraine. “Kneel,” says Nimueh, and Ygraine does, hands in the grass next to the altar. Nimueh places the crown on her head, seeming not to notice that she stone phallus is still held in place, mere inches from Ygraine’s mouth. “I crown you Ygraine of Camelot, true Queen of the land.”

When Ygraine stands, she takes Nimueh’s hand, and thinks of Uther as little as she can. She is Queen of the land, and the heir must be a child of her body, and she will do whatever she can to keep Camelot safe.


End file.
